


Flotsam

by stefwith1f



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefwith1f/pseuds/stefwith1f
Summary: Love and loss and the superpower that is staying alive.ORSure, I have all this treasure, but I'm still not sure it was worth the shipwreck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Slodwick's 15th Annual "A Picture is Worth 1000 Words" challenge.
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> [My photo prompt is here!](https://www.flickr.com/photos/38665451@N08/4474221364/)
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> Content warnings: contains mentions of suicide and a suicide attempt.

"I have opinions again. Today, for example, is a shitty day."

Twenty years ago today Mia Hernandez met the love of her life on the boardwalk while yelling at a seagull.

"That must seem wild to you, that there was a time where I didn't have opinions about anything."

Fifteen years ago today Mia and Andrea got married on the beach. While taking photos on the jetty after the ceremony, a wave lapped up and deposited a rank net of seaweed on the legs of Andrea's white suit. They hung a blueprint-sized print of them laughing in the aftermath in their bedroom.

"It's basic stuff that I notice, now. I go buy _the coffee I like_ instead of just _coffee_. I go buy coffee! I was so afraid to go to the store; now I just go. I season my food again, so it’s actually enjoyable. I watch TV, and when I don’t like the thing I’m watching? I turn it off. I watch something else. I know, right?"

Twelve years ago today, the morning Hurricane Isaac made landfall, Andrea left a note on the kitchen table and went for her morning run. She thoughtfully wedged bits of shells and pitted stones in the pockets of her jacket before walking into the waves. Isaac destroyed the boardwalk. Andrea's body was never recovered.

"Before, I was afraid to see people we knew, but I was also terrified of strangers. I was afraid they could tell. I would make a to-do list and shower and get dressed and stand in front of the mirror in the front hall and practice making my face not look so sad, but at the same time also make it not look like I was happy. If that sounds exhausting, yeah: I gave up. Every single time, I gave up and went back to bed."

Ten years ago today in the pre-dawn black, Mia climbed down the partially-rebuilt stairs to the beach and swam out until she was too cold to tell if she was still swimming. She woke up laying on wet sand with thirty yards of the Atlantic Ocean churning above her. Flashlight beams of sunlight criss crossed her chest as it rose and fell. It had been hours. She panicked and a gentle current pushed her, screaming, to the surface.

"You know you can order groceries online now? Oh yeah, groceries, a DVD of 'Clue', a case of Pinot Grigio, toilet paper ... once I ordered a bucket of live ladybugs, just to see what would happen. Two days later I got a bucket of live ladybugs. Don't know what I expected. I set them free in the backyard, and _that_ was the furthest from bed I'd been in months."

Nine years ago today Mia got drunk and found herself on the jetty. She lay on her stomach and dangled her arm over the edge. The ocean eddied playfully around her fingertips. She pressed her face against the rocks and heard dolphins - they must have been miles offshore - chittering confidentially in her ears.

"I was so scared. I was scared that when you left, something broke in me and none of this was actually happening. And if it was real, if any part of it was real, I was scared of what it meant about ... everything. If this can happen, to me, then what else is out there? And: honest to god, what am I supposed to do with this? I can so easily hear you saying 'Honey, look, I know it's tough but who else is gonna' lead the bivalve army to aquatic justice for the world's oceans?'. And if you think being able to call up _perfect_ examples of stuff you'd say would be a comfort, you could not possibly be more wrong. But, as I think we both know, you have certainly been more wrong than that."

Seven years ago today Mia vomited up rye and red wine and saltwater and tiny cutting slivers of mussel shells. She dragged herself into the bathtub and lay unconscious for a full day.

"It took me a long time to stop being furious at the sea for not letting me follow you. And I am absolutely still hurt that I had to _try_ to follow you in order for this massive... strange ... other part of me to happen. That you had to go first, for any of this- All of this, and with no you to help figure it out."

Five years ago today Mia got sober.

"You on your very worst day, I'd take that. I'd take you over this bullshit power or whatever it's supposed to be, and I'd never look back..."

Two years ago today Mia sat on a bench on the boardwalk enjoying the first clear night after a week of rain. She watched a man at the shoreline scream at a woman - his wife, his girlfriend, his sister, a stranger - who shrank from him. He moved closer and closer, until Mia sighed and gestured and a whip made of ocean water lashed his feet out from under him. The woman on the beach barked a laugh and clapped her hands over her mouth. "You alive?" She asked him. He groaned. "Ok," she said. "Bye."

"So I still don't know what I'm supposed to do, but I'll figure it out. Oh, also I ate lunch alone at a restaurant today. That's unrelated to the ... powers thing. And probably doesn't seem as exciting. But it's something."

Today, in a driving rainstorm, a woman once afraid of everything stares down the ocean. She breathes, temporarily warming the cold empty feeling that still sloshes around her heart, and puts her hands on the railing of the boardwalk. She remembers how good it feels to plant herself in the vastness of the sea, her legs like timber thundering down into the cold sand.

Mia turns back towards the car, bone dry, with salt crusting the soles of her shoes and splinters burning in her fingertips.


End file.
